


smoke where there's fire

by Still_sleepless



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Abstract, Academia, Academy, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Character Study, Chronal Disassociation, Class Differences, Classical References, Closeted Character, Coming of Age, Denial of Feelings, Existentialism, Found Family, M/M, Not Beta Read, Philosophy, Questioning, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Social Commentary, Students, Wealth, Writer! Chen le, Zhong Chen Le-centric, also, author is very tired, introspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24440278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_sleepless/pseuds/Still_sleepless
Summary: Chenle is smoke in the sky.Chenle can't stop.
Relationships: Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 21
Kudos: 21





	1. on the overpass

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm officially done with university for this year. So, I've been working really hard on this fic for around two weeks now. It's a marked difference from all my previous works and I've really tried hard to flesh out Chenle's character and the world he's in. As you can see from the tags, I'm going to delve into a few different themes. I hope it will be interesting and that you'll enjoy. This is actually the first time that I'll be posting with the first few chapters already pre-written so hopefully, my posting schedule will be more consistent than usual. Also!! This is my first time writing Chenle as the main character which is a cool milestone, I think.
> 
> Anyways, I'll stop talking and let you read.

**Day**

The glare of the Saturday morning sun beats down on Chenle, stripes cutting across his face in a vivisection of heat that causes him to squint. His mac is open in front of him, split between Netﬂix and an empty word document and his coffee has already been demolished, so he's left with a caffeine headache and a quickly diminishing sense of patience.

Forty minutes in and the only progress he's made is ﬁnishing season one of skins – the ending leaving him ﬁdgety in an uncomfortable way, and he'd rather not take the time to analyse his reaction.

Time is running out before his lunch appointment, before this one moment of careful contemplation is taken from him. He already knows that he's wasted it. Forcefully, as if in retaliation, he shuts the laptop close, grain of the wooden table swirling when he breathes too hard.

There aren't many moments that belong solely to Chenle. Sometimes, he considers that his life is just on loan, to be lived out for others.

I'm sick.

Chenle scoffs at his musings, for he will never have need of a loan, painfully aware of his privilege, the white-out of wealth imprinted on his DNA -- genomes set to proﬁt and stocks before he could even speak, his blood as blue as the open seas that he's sailed atop every summer.

These idiosyncrasies, the blunt desire for change that rattles like loose coins in Chenle's head, the aﬄuence of a family who could drop everything and move countries for him, a three story home, his petulant frown when things don't go his way because Chenle is - Chenle is spoilt, Chenle is -

Chenle is many things and he's aware of all of it. Never wanting for anything can shape a person, mould them into something that's hard to look at in the mornings, when the world is bustling and jostling and all you want is quiet.

 _It's not me though_. He tries to convince himself even when he knows that: _Yes. Yes, it is._

It doesn't mean he wants it though.

Chenle is a blank page, cursor blinking in and out of existence because the words don't come easily, haven't come easily for the longest time; a child that followed the road towards the mountains only to ﬁnd that he couldn't ﬁnd his way back home.

_Bzzzt._

Chenle declines the call from his mother. He knows the drill. A lunch appointment is a promise, after all.

**Night**

All his life, Chenle has been surrounded by the earth. His house is large but carries with it a gentle intimacy, despite its vast size. His father's oﬃce back in China is ﬁlled with heavy, oak furniture; an intimidating desk that Chenle could once not reach, forced to stare upwards to catch his father's dark, serious eyes. After relocating to Korea, his aunt insisted on light wood panelling and laminated ﬂooring that is always cold against Chenle's soles when he forgets to wear slippers, which is painfully often.

Chenle's room itself has bookshelves spanning from one side to the other, old books placed on each shelf with delicate care; a result of his steadfast education which has led him to the comfort of the written word on many occasions.

The earth is with Chenle, through this house and his memories but especially through these pages, cut down from enormous heights to reach his ﬁngertips.

Again, Chenle thinks of his wealth. His privilege bears down like a paperweight, heavy against his back. _There is no logic to this guilt._ He reminds himself, a compulsive defence mechanism that causes his teeth to chatter unwillingly. _I didn't ask to be born who I am._ This doesn't lessen the feeling that Chenle is ungrateful and unable to grasp the _reality_ of life, his opinions having been tainted by the rose-coloured nature of his worldview.

There are no answers - can be no answers - for a question that Chenle has yet to ask. The pressure of his arteries climbs the steps to his nervous system, a vault of _wood wood wood_ locked tight behind his eyes, the suffocation a crass attempt at stemming his screams that run saline along his corneal lines. A blue that isn't blue.

_Does this make sense? Do I make sense?_

Chenle hangs from a pendulum, swinging in time to a beat he didn’t choose. A beat he can’t even hear.

The emptiness of the worn-out books greets him, as stoic and stagnant as ever, and Chenle expects nothing less but that doesn't stop the hurt that bursts forth like a faulty pipe in his chest.

His hands feel blindly for his journal, full and yellowed out, a grey mole skin that holds everything that he cannot. Looking up, Chenle notes the time: _1:22am._ Serenity floods his body as he gives himself to this journal, ready to lay himself out between these pages. He picks up a pen.

Then he begins.

**Pages**

_He thinks that he's himself but what is the self? There's a myriad of identities that aren't his own all scrambling to make a home inside his mind. Where is his mind?_

_These coloured spectres jostle and run into the holes in his skin where nothing is but something should be and it's now becoming too diﬃcult to see where the lie ends and he begins._

_And I'm sick of pretending that I'm something I'm not when what I'm not is all I want to be._

_And it's too diﬃcult to breathe when the air that you're in is tarnished by the sin of simply existing_

_When will this end?_

_-ZC._

**Day**

Lately, Chenle has fallen in with the lower echelon and he feels a change in himself but cannot for the life of him describe what it is. He expects that it must be pretension, for he's allowed himself to feel good about supposed his charity and isn't that a kind of lordliness in and of itself? It’s not a fall from grace either. Chenle gets a pat on his back and extracurricular credits all for the struggle of helping the underclass try to get their goddamn lives together. A part of him is convinced that this interest in how the other half live must be perverse. _Is it normal to hate one’s own status? Is it even weirder to write about it?_ It’s his prerogative however there’s a certain fear that Chenle isn’t as good a person as he thinks he is. Acting and being are two different things, but the lines cross easily, a line in the sand that’s already being washed over.

The holiday is close to over, so Chenle had decided to spend the last few days before school at the community shelter. He had spent days trying to engage thoroughly, attempting to understand the plights and personas of those living there. But as all the times before, there was no reciprocation. Merely avoidance and snide tones, upturned noses and slit eyes, like Chenle was a thief come to steal their few possessions and not just a boy wanting to help.

_Maybe, I am a thief, come to steal their memories. Maybe I am perverse in how vehemently I try to change my experience._

_Ab uno disce omnes._

The credits aren’t quite worth this anxiety and Chenle is for once, glad to indulge himself in the harrowing hellscape of school if only to forget his own insensitive blunders.

Plus, he misses the others.

**Night**

A hobby that Chenle has picked up during this vacation is writing letters. Except he doesn’t write, rather he texts out of convenience. Yet, the concept is the same because Renjun has gone on an odd ten-day retreat to Geneva with his parents and it’s strictly hands-free, meaning Renjun hasn’t had access to his phone in ten days. Chenle has texted. A lot. Long, sprawling texts which ultimately span a large wordcount without really conveying any sort of meaningful information. It’s therapeutic in a way. Though, Chenle doesn’t doubt the _bollocking_ he’s sure to receive once school starts back up.

Regardless, he spends a while composing his speech, wanting Renjun to feel the great depth of his intellect.

_Chenle: The very voracity with which your countenance is constructed leaves me awestruck in a manner which I previously would not have imagined possible._

_Chenle: In other words, you’re so ugly I’ve calcified._

_Chenle:_ _😊_

The genius of this leaves Chenle exhausted, yet he feels something is missing. After a second, he quickly sends an additional text.

_Chenle: The days are too long, Renjun. I’m beginning to think they’ll never end._

Satisfaction thrums through Chenle after exorcising this line from his head and the sheets of his bed seem to call for him but Chenle spies his journal laying straight-edged along his desk and shakes the sleep setting out of his bones before reaching for it and falling into another world, one where up means _up_ and down means _don’t let go_ _._

**Pages**

_Tell me I’m a good person._

_Tell me a lie._

_Make it a good one._

_Tell me a joke._

_Make me laugh._

_What’s the difference between a lie and a joke?_

_I don’t know._

_-ZC._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any questions, then feel free to ask me anything. Does Chenle's motives and inner-feelings come across well? I would love some feedback on his characterisation. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you've enjoyed!
> 
> Translations:  
> "Ab uno disce omnes." Chenle says this in reference to himself. It means "from one, to all." Or in layman's terms, it means that what applies to one thing also typically applies to other larger situations.


	2. a sweet haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've made a motley band ever since.

**Day**

  
When the new term begins, it’s a rush of warm bodies and swelling currents of agitation/joy/regret that’s part hormonal reactions and part teen fever, enough to have Chenle swirling in his own skin. The first word out of everybody’s mouths seems to be ‘vacation’ and he doesn’t have it in him to keep answering the same question. So, Chenle resorts to too many wordless affirmations before he can escape and cling onto Jaemin, an upperclassman whom he feels a great sense of gratitude for, pulling him out of the oval and leading him to the others, huddled under the arch, a beacon of excessive tweed and messy hair.  
  
“If you wish to confess your undying love for me, then _now_ might be a good time,” Renjun says, by way of greeting, holding up his phone and briefly flashing the multitude of messages that Chenle has sent. Renjun looks happy enough but he stares just too long, enough to sear Chenle with anxiety. He's saved from this by Renjun's sudden twinkling eyes, throwing an arm around his shoulder in a warm hug that lasts only seconds but feels like a fragment of forever.  
  
This sparks a flame of contentment for Chenle, who’s already slipping into the comforts of their companionship. “I’d rather receive a _damning_ blow to the head, Jun-ah," He quips, scanning over Jeno and Donghyuck before landing on Jisung, hair two different shades of brown and eyes locked firmly onto Chenle’s.  
  
“Why didn’t _I_ get that many messages?” Jisung’s habitual pout makes a quick reappearance, as he walks forward and slots himself besides Jaemin, brown hair looking blonder up closely.  
  
“You were at your aunts in Busan,” He replies, matter of factly, averting his eyes and glancing at the clock tower. He can’t see the time but he can see the birds, a great flock flying north in a formation that seems too scattered for Chenle’s liking.  
  
Jaemin chips into the conversation: “And there’s _quite_ a big difference between Busan and Geneva, Jisung-ah.” He receives a prompt elbow to the ribs from Jeno, whose glasses are slipping off the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Et arrogantiam, deliciae.” The smile on Jeno’s face is pleasant enough, but they all know him enough to hear the warning that his words carry. Jaemin sidles closer to Jisung, who merely rolls his eyes before changing the subject to his newest infatuation: Richard Siken’s work.  
  
Chenle tunes out the conversation, already having heard the spiel numerous times over the phone, and he casts his mind towards the coming school year. He’s both relishing and dreading all that is yet to come and for a shining moment, Chenle takes in his surroundings. The exceptional potential that is crowded onto the field, and the great minds besides him that are now fervently discussing Siken’s Crush.  
  
Never did Chenle think himself to be proficient with language, tongue tumbling as he sounds out consonants, but with a decade of tutors he's worked hard to meet expectations. Arriving at Brightmark, he found that his skills were rated gold. At least until he met the others, people who slip in and out of language in a way that feels like water, like the beauty of something impermanent but deadly.

Knowledge is currency when your peers and - especially - your friends are capable of more than most.

It's not that he's the only old money boy here either, but a great deal of the academy exists from sponsors and generous parental donations, giving leeway for less affluent but academically primed students to enter. This has further been bolstered by the expansive government grants and financial aid that the academy has secured in the past few years. So, Chenle didn’t give into the temptation of networking with other wealthy students but instead grew into the group, taken under the wings of Jeno. It wasn’t long before Jaemin, Renjun and Donghyuck welcomed him as well. 

Jisung was there too, small and pleased, crown of blossoms atop his head the first day they met, playing at Patroclus in a hollowed out clearing in the woods; estate grounds vast enough to get lost in. Chenle melded in, stage of dirt and insects like a platform in the clouds, and raised his own crown, branches grazing his temples. He was not _Achilles_ , of course. That honour fell to Donghyuck, brash and bold.

Chenle was Agamemnon, clutching at his heart as he stumbled, dirt turned to blood and blood turned to betrayal.

They've made a motley band ever since.

Chenle tastes the blood even now, seasons changing and time turning and crown of branches cast aside in the woods that gave him a voice.

**Night**

  
For several months, Chenle had lived alongside the others in the dorm. It was a new experience, missing his family while also making a new one and Chenle wouldn't have traded it for the world, even as the pangs of yearning for home thrashed against the shores of his resolve.

Jeno would often sit up with him on the veranda, describing the fates of the constellations, the stories drawn out in the stars. Chenle doesn't believe in predestination but he believes in Jeno's voice, steady and certain as the sun would rise.

There is nothing like this anywhere else. This companionship that's grown like vines in Chenle's heart, replacing every faction of logic and filling up each chamber with something more than blood.

When his aunt and mother moved to Korea, he felt that the goodbye was bitter, despite knowing that he would see them all the time. It was a farewell of sorts and farewells, in any capacity, are always heartbreaking. 

It is a rare occasion where Chenle has neither an extracurricular to attend to nor a familial appointment to keep. In spite of this blessed down time, that should probably be spent doing the school work that was almost immediately piled on top of him; he finds himself escaping to the dorm, where he's certain to find his friends dawdling. 

As expected, the boys are busy, or at least, Jaemin is. His head is currently dangling out of a window, facing upwards and Chenle is almost afraid to enter the fray that is sure to await him. 

The housing is three-storey and he strains to check whether Jaemin is still dangling (he is) before walking inside, hesitantly brushing his hand against the Bavarian Castle as he goes. It's strikingly quiet in the hallway, deconstructed lighting showing no one else lingering in the immediate vicinity. 

He walks upstairs with considerable more urgency, fearing the worst; that Renjun has gone ahead and murdered someone. _It was inevitable, really._ He reasons, wondering whether it was Donghyuck who's met his untimely demise.

Once he reaches the top of the stairs, he notes that there is no blood, but there _is_ hushed laughter drifting out from behind a closed door.

He recognises the laughter. Jaemin.

"-orst that he can do?" Donghyuck looks relaxed when he says the words, leaning casually against Jeno's bookcase as he looks down at Jaemin who seems half-smug and half-apprehensive.

They all glance at Chenle's entrance but it's Jeno who speaks, disapproval dripping from his voice as he rolls his eyes. "Chenle, _finally_ someone of reason, talk some sense into these ingrates." He motions for Chenle to close the door and then they're standing in a conspicuous circle. 

"Donghyuck dared Jaemin to put Renjun's signed copy of Rabbit, Run on the _roof_ ," Jeno lets out in a conspirital breath, glaring at both of the boys in turn.

" _Not Updike."_ Chenle can't help but feel aghast, now understanding why Jaemin had the decency to feel even slightly scared. Two people will be dead by tonight, neither of them Renjun.

"If he weren't so short, it wouldn't be such an issue." Donghyuck feels the need to point out, weak smile paltry now that Chenle knows what's happening. 

"I'm staying out of this." Chenle waves his hands wildly, looking to Jeno for support who mirrors the movement and stands besides him, - the both of them a united front - staring at Donghyuck and Jaemin in abject pity. 

Out on the landing, there's a disgruntled sound, Chenle likes to imagine it like a rumbling, the sound of a wolf come to stalk his prey. 

The door swings open with considerable force, hitting the wall hard, which causes them all to wince simultaneously. Renjun is here, eyes ablaze, jacket hanging off of his shoulders. 

_"Where. Is. It?"_ He demands, storming right up to Jaemin with gritted teeth.

To Jaemin's credit, he holds out well in the face of danger. Silently, Chenle feels that it's testament to his idiocy, survival instinct lost along with his primitive origins. "I don't know _what_ you're talking about," Renjun open his mouth immediately but Jaemin continues, slow grin spreading across his face, "but if I _did_ then I definitely wouldn't have gone up to the roof." He finishes, satisfied expression settling. _The cat that licked the fucking cream,_ Chenle appraises absently.

All colour seems to drain from Renjun's countenance, and he steps back, face hardening before he smiles sweetly. "Two can play at that game, Nana," He proclaims before sweeping from the room.

Jaemin visibly falters at the unexpected turn of events, quivering eyes watching Renjun's indifference unfold. "What does _that_ mean?" He calls after him, one hand held out in a sign of restraint.

"Vincit qui patitur." Renjun's voice carries into the room dismissively, as he doesn't bother to even turn around. 

There's a brief moment of silence where nobody moves, before Jaemin is hurrying forward and follows Renjun up to the third floor, just as Jisung arrives, his hands laden with takeout bags. He simply watches, before shrugging and collapsing on Jeno's bed, an utterly serene look on his face.

"What happened?" Jisung asks inquisitively, looking at Jeno for answers. Jeno quickly repeats the entire spiel as Donghyuck lounges about, indulging himself in the unbridled chaos that he's unleashed. During this, Chenle focuses on the vague noises of a tussle reverberating through the walls, and has to suppress a grin. Renjun would no doubt be the victor, skinny as he is, Jaemin is even skinnier. Two boys with the muscle density of sea sponge sparring, what an amusing thought.

Jeno finishes recounting the events that have led them here and even he seems pleased at the sounds floating down from upstairs. Jisung is ecstatic, food forgotten, he laughs like he'll never laugh again, cheeks reddening and breathing short as he gasps for air. A lone tear travels down his cheek from the extertion and Chenle watches it go, suddenly uncomfortable and altogether too aware of Jisung's presence. 

Jisung has grown fast and tall, limbs lengthening even as his boyish naivety and bashful charm has persisted. For a time, last year, Chenle had found himself being obstinate in his disappointment, loath as he was to be left behind. Recently though, he's found himself often choosing to stare upwards to catch Jisung's bright, carefree eyes.

It's not too bad, not until Chenle catches himself grinning in an unfamiliar way, overcome with an unknowing emotion at the happiness on Jisung's face. There's a sharp ringing, like Chenle has contracted an unfortunate case of tinnitus. It's a bell drowning out all sound so all he can see is Jeno mouthing some words and he _has_ to turn and walk away but it feels like he's running and Chenle has always felt cowardly but never like this. Right now, this is something more than cowardice.

He can't run from himself.

Jisung is unaware of the change that has just taken place in his dear friend, who's suddenly pale and swaying before turning on his heels and disappearing out of the house.

"Perhaps he's seen a ghost." Donghyuck jokes with a chuckle, though Jisung is immediately put on edge, glancing at the dark corners of their dorm that now seem much darker. He doesn't realise that the ghost Chenle has seen is him.

  
Scrambling home, Chenle tries to drive every thought out of his head with distractions. He witnesses the fall of the Berlin Wall through a TV screen, an old VHS tape left by his uncle, but he feels it as if it's happening right in front of him. The first brick comes down and Chenle thinks that this must have been what it was like to be there that day, to witness the change of a nation divided in two.

Chenle imagines that _he's_ divided in two but there's no wall here and no cameras to capture the debris.

There is not a single star that he can wish on to give him what he wants.

Tonight, the ebb and flow of words across the page form a feverish tidal wave, a tsunami in harried vernacular because Chenle is vacuous but he's also ready to burst - pressure is a daring thing, always testing limits that are keeping order in place. Chenle is no longer in order, a jumbled mess of beliefs and notions and protests that make up his humanity, that pull at the thread of his very form, threatening to lay waste to what he has left.

  
**Pages**

  
_Jisung rises from a lake, sword in his dry hand and the shine of his chainmail blinds me._

_Before I know it there's a pain in my chest, so I rub my eyes and look down, only to see a blade where my heart was and my heart at Jisung's hip, held up by thumb tacks in a blue scabbard._

_He tells me that I **should be more careful with my things**. Then he tells me that **there's a healer in the lake** , he'll **take me there**. So, he does but he ~~chooses not~~ forgets to give my heart back._

_I swallow the thumbtacks and savour the taste._   
_-ZC._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I realised while editing this chapter that it would probably be beneficial to provide translations for the latin, etc! So, I'll be doing that from now on and I hope it's helpful.
> 
> Also, this chapter is longer than I intended so I'm quite proud even if it is full of run-on sentences. Chenle has a lot of chaotic neutral energy right now, I feel a bit bad tbh but the MC suffering is necessary for character development haha okay I'll go now.
> 
> Translations:  
> "Et arrogantiam, deliciae." Jeno says this to Jaemin and it basically means "arrogance, darling." Because I'm a sucker for gentle pretension!!1!
> 
> "Vincit qui patitur." Renjun says this (ONCE AGAIN) to Jaemin. This means "the one who endures will succeed." So, you can kind of guess how that arguement ends. I'll add any translations for the last chapter as well if you want to check that out.


	3. the first parable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's the true account of events?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for how late this is.

**Day**

One thing that is of great importance - when venturing out into the world - is knowing that we are all liars. Every single person, beyond the arms of your parents, is an unequivocal liar. This pretence is essential - no, it's innate. There's no shame in admitting it, in even embracing it.

It was Humbolt who said that _all understanding is miscomprehension_ and _all agreement is divergence._

See, even when we think we're telling the truth, we're not. Sincerity is an attempt at being humane, at reaching out into the void and screaming _I'm doing my best._ It's the perfect setup for failure because, as we know, the void is empty and nothing will reach back. There are no comforting hands to reassure your own insecurities. Yet, we can still say we've _tried_ and feel better for doing so.

That's the story of humanity, we relish our vanity and call it _concern_. Eons and continents and fallen empires can't erase what's always been here, what will always be here, we are a mass of individuals masquerading as higher cognitive beings, forgetting that it is these very cognitive abilities which render us depraved. Social etiquette is another form of stage-acting. 

There is the rule of forced perspective. Look up and you see a the sky, looking down you see the ground. See the problem? Chenle sees the sky where everyone else sees the ground. This is _his_ vanity, _his_ flaw flaying the skin of his morality. Where Chenle begins and where he ends is the same point, the same line in the sand, the same star in the dirt. It's a case of solipsism, arrogance begets carelessness and Chenle is tripping over his own feet to escape facing himself.

Let's not argue over the semantics of it all. There is a difference between this, our hearts and this, our brains. The difference is judgement. A judgement is impartial but the act of judging will always be skewed in one direction, or the other. Hirsch claimed that the author's intent is final. Simply put: what Chenle infers from life does not matter if it's not what God had intended.

How does that work? There's a model of irony to be dissected here, a joke to be made. What God sees once is multiplied twofold in the eyes of a believer because meaning is placed where it can be and Chenle isn't a believer but he has meaning, he _must_. There's a great tragedy to this. 

_Chenle sits at his desk_

_Chenle sits at his desk_

_Chenle sits at his desk_

_He sits sideways_

Chenle sits at his desk sideways, but he can't get out of his own head, thoughts tracking like a record that's been flipped and he taps at the wood, fully aware that the lesson is taking place but unable to focus because there's no space to compute.

It's an elective and Renjun is pin straight next to him, notes copied down in neat print and Chenle breathes in deeply before looking. He ignores the elbow digging into his side and locks eyes with Mr Jung, who's got chalk in one hand and a spiralled notebook in the other.

"Mortality salience," he says, tightly, staring back at Chenle with a grin, "is one of the more interesting displays of humanity."

 _Disasters happen_ , is what the smile is telling them, _we are all disasters upon this earth, burning out fast_ , the eyes blink slowly, relaying a message that shouldn't be true.

"I'm sure you're all aware of terror management theory. It was part of the required reading that I've set." Mr Jung is leaning against the heavy set desk where all his files are neatly stacked, and he's no longer looking at Chenle, but he doesn't seemed to have looked away either, eyes meeting a point that's only visible to him. The blue of his shirt is purple under the orange lighting, ruffled sleeves flowing when he picks up a textbook that they all have. "Page 40 gives a breakdown but it's never enough - reading - the words must come off of the page and fed to you like the delicate birds you all inevitably are."

There's a slight shift in the atmosphere, Chenle feels it. A cold is rising against his skin, crawling up his back.

"We are all immensely aware of our coming deaths. Money, success, and love may provide a smokescreen but death is the ultimate phantom which reaches it's fingers around our necks. Even now, all of you - with your immense privilege - are afraid of the ghouls that stalk you under the cover of the dark." Mr Jung's voice is cynical, crisp and icy with knowledge. "Think of all the classics that we enjoy. Death is the singly consistent thread weaving itself through the tapestry of the past. Death is the one and only lover who wants you for your _entire_ life. This is _loyalty_." Somehow, Chenle knows that the lesson carries a weight that none of them are capable of bearing. "We're entirely ungrateful for this loyalty, of course. Death gives us love and we give him scorn and existential anxiety in return. A fruitful gift, no?" There are a chorus of _nos_ across the room and Mr Jung smiles jaggedly, seemingly satisfied. 

"No, I suppose not." Mr Jung takes on a rueful affectation, pushing back his hair with a harsh movement. "This distaste towards the end is a contradiction on humanity's part. Look at it this way: There is no point in swimming in still waters. As humans, we inherently seek turbulence. We seek something that we can push against and blame for our own misgivings." The air is heavy with heat and Chenle strains to hear Mr Jung's quickly quieting voice, on either side of him he senses his peers following suit, a classroom of teens all hanging off of their teacher's last word, eager to achieve closure. Mr Jung is entirely aware of this when he continues: "Validation can only be reached through abject chaos. We are thrust headfirst into the unknown. Alea jacta est."

"Validation can be brought forth through absolutes. Chaos is only one catalyst among many," Renjun speaks quietly, writing-hand stilling momentarily, but his voice breaches the quiet like a bitter bullet and Chenle feels as if he's been dunked in a pool.

Mr Jung doesn't stop to address him. "As many of you will have _conflicting_ ideation I trust you will enjoy this next project I have in store," Mr Jung turns to the board and writes something in large, sprawling script before standing to the side. 

_Pair work._

There are a few heavy sighs at the announcement and Mr Jung looks satisfied at the despair. "I want an essay written about a philosophical or sociological concept. I want you to pick something and get to flesh of the matter. It could be whatever you want, even mortality salience, but I expect a discussion of something you feel passionate about. It requires different perspectives and fresh ideas. Make yourselves seem like the philosophers of old but keep to a maximum of 3000 words." Each sentence is punctuated by the thump of his fist against the chalkboard, a slight clicking of his teeth dragging against Chenle's eardrums in an irritating manner. "Turn to your desk-mates," he says as the bell for lunch rings, "the deadline is two weeks from today. At least, _try_ to impress me," Mr Jung finishes with a dry tone, before sitting in his desk chair, a clear sign that class is dismissed.

Turning slightly, Chenle sees Renjun's slight frown and he grins. "I guess we're fated?" He asks in a jovial fashion, picking up his backpack and weaving through the desks, not bothering to check if Renjun is following.

"If you start rambling for 2000 words then-"

Abruptly, Renjun stops talking and when Chenle twists in the doorway to find out why, he sees Renjun in the middle of the classroom, facing Mr Jung who has an inexplicable look on his face and chalk smudged upside his sleeve. As abruptly as Renjun stopped, he starts walking again, seemingly having found what he was looking for. "-then I will be forced to sever this friendship," he finishes, leading out through the door into the hallway, shoes seemingly soundless against the marble floors.

Hesitating, Chenle glances back but the door is already swinging shut, a barrier to his curiosity and he quickens his pace to catch up with Renjun. There's a frantic energy carving portraits on his psyche, swimming figure eights in his blood, too delicious to ignore and too hard to dispel. These anemic wonderings are forceful and with Renjun by his side, Chenle can't help but wonder if he's alone in this burden - this burden of emotions. 

Renjun stops suddenly, so Chenle walks into him and the flow of students around them diverts to make way, a river of bodies merging and turning. "Ah - I'm needed by the fiscal movement committee," Renjun says, a look of dismay contorting his fine features, hands moving emotively, "I'll join you guys for lunch in 10?" A moment's beat passes but Renjun doesn't give Chenle the chance to answer, already turning away, silvery head of hair disappearing and Chenle loses him in the crowd.

For a second, Chenle watches before he, too, turns around and heads to the restroom. When he's done, Chenle finds himself standing in front of the mirrors - large asymmetrical expanses of reflective glass, cut in unusual shapes - and he stares at the portions of his form, the curve of his nose, the sharp slope of his shoulders, the way his cheeks are captured in one triangular mirror but his eyes are only reflected in the larger oblong. Then Chenle's attention is caught elsewhere, in the spaces in-between the mirrors, the egg-shell cream of the walls that don't reflect anything.

That's what he looks at before leaving, the blank space that should have shown his lips, a perpetual frown, but showed nothing.

The hall is empty now. Chenle takes time, making his way through the white on white, high ceilings sweeping across above his head, and deepset lockers to his right, all one solid shade of colour. Chenle is the only offering of colour right now, in the jaws of this place. He is walking in the maws of a beast, hungry and monochromatic but even so, he walks slowly, footsteps echoing in a way that sounds ever so lonely.

There's movement in the windows, and Chenle looks with slit eyes, sun strong and too vibrant for comfortable viewing. The buttress rise like daggers of stone and cement; remnants of a bygone era where intellectualism was sharp but conflict was sharper and infinitely more desired. Where Chenle now stands was once a battleground, a community under siege. It's silent but when Chenle exhales, he thinks he can almost hear metal on metal and the ghost of a cry that dies out by the time he inhales.

Outside, the five of his friends are gathered, a line of browns and blues, their hair bright and dazzling under the direct light. The colours are like sirens and Chenle spots Renjun trailing behind, one hand waving furiously as he - presumably - gets their attention. Together, the others simultaneously stop and allow him to catch up, an eerie display of synchronicity. They trawl through foliage, carefully treading between the brush until they break through the tree line, one at a time. Jeno goes last, charging forward into the great, green undergrowth. They're there one second and gone the next.

The sun moves and Chenle is awash in gold overtones, sallow skin bronze and undergoing a momentarily blindness. When the sun moves behind a cloud there is no trace of anyone outside. A disappearing act that would be impressive if it didn't leave Chenle impossibly hollow.

These musings often border on the dionysian. This is a simple neuroses that cannot be analysed or deciphered. All too often, these ideas run away from him, unravelling into something dionysian. 

_A lesser god but a god all the same._

The whisper is cracked and fades quickly but Chenle can sense the hallway open up. The arteries of Brightmark are eager for oxygen, eating up the paltry sentiment that he let slip with voracious ease.

Chenle leaves with a rapturous shudder, rushing to complete the chain of six. When he does, he can't help but imagine the jagged points of the buttress - gargoyles that don't ever sleep - in the faces of his friends, he sees them again. He's snapped out of the delusion by Jaemin who opens his satchel just as Chenle sits down, all of them gathered in a circle, haphazardly resting atop conveniently placed logs.

"Snappers?" Jaemin asks, holding out a packet of Chenle's favourite sweets. Pleased, Chenle accepts gratefully, leaning into Donghyuck's side and tilting his head back to bask in the snatches of warmth escaping through the leaves of the crowded trees. Donghyuck puts on a show of huffing before, predictably, ruffling at Chenle's hairs, setting the black curls into a mass of relaxed spirals. 

"How did the fiscal meeting go?" Chenle asks, still bathing in the rays, voluntarily ignorant of his surroundings. 

There's a pause wherein silence prevails, deep and unsettling. The world is listening, always listening, those birds in the distance, the insects under the floorboards, the trees, the sky, the electrical wiring, all listening but never reciprocating. It breaks - the silence - when Renjun says "I wouldn't call it a meeting but yes, it went well." 

The silence breaks but the breakage doesn't go unnoticed. Not by Chenle, at least. Not by Jeno either, who speaks, baritone voice falling to the floor, more substance in the raise of his eyebrows and his open vowels than there could ever be in the spread of the forest. "I wasn't aware that the fiscal committee was meeting?" He questions, certainty in his voice even when he's not.

He receives only a shrug in response, as Renjun chews his food. Jeno draws closer but the conversation becomes inaudible and Chenle's attention adjusts to Jaemin who's animatedly explaining the architectural weaknesses of the North Tower, a high pinprick of purple brick and mortar that has it's fair share of ghost stories.

"-umour has it that the fall of the nobles was accounted for - at least partially - by the shoddy tile work. The Lord's First Guard went into battle disoriented when an unfortunate tile fell and scraped his back of his head. If not for that, well, maybe the tides of battle would have been overturned," Jaemin enthuses, eyes alight at the scene painting itself out before their eyes.

_A fallen soldier, bound by duty, plunging into battle when he can barely remember his own name._

Donghyuck cuts through with cold precision, "The Lord's Guard would have had no need to be at the North Tower at the height of a siege. His post was at the South, at the Lord's chambers." His argumentative tone lends him little credence but Chenle is also aware of the tale. The obscure history of Brightmark is one that he has interest in and Donghyuck's point generally falls in line with what Chenle knows.

Jaemin's smugness is thick, almost palpable, and Chenle fears that he could peel off a layer of arrogance if he tried. "That's where you're wrong. The paths of history are ridiculously censored and this is no different." There's an inexplicable severity to Jaemin's expression, lips in a grim line despite the satisfaction of his delivery.

"Then? What's the true account of events?" Donghyuck is sitting up straighter and Chenle's head slips off from where he had been resting. Donghyuck may pretend to be unaffected but his curiosity has been piqued and truthfully, so has Chenle's. 

Jaemin wastes no time in saying, "you're right that the guard had no business being there that early morning. He was stationed besides his Lord and had been stationed there for as long as he'd bore allegiance. However, he changed his behaviour at such a pivotal point. Why?" Jaemin is picking up his pace now, racing towards an ending that can't be guessed. _Why?_ Chenle wonders, _why would he risk so much?_ There's no foreseeable answer, as much as Chenle tries. "My beloved friends, there was only one reason for him to traverse to the North Tower at such a perilous time. Fabula amoris," Jaemin says finally, a sheen of perspiration heavy on his skin, a testament to his excitement, "suus 'semper amare." 

A fragile understanding dawns on Donghyuck who's not even really sitting on the log anymore, perched half in the air in anticipation. "In the North Tower? That means..." Donghyuck trails off and Chenle opens his mouth to finish the thought, to meet the conclusion but there's a soft hand against his own and when he looks down, Jisung is smiling sheepishly as he quickly steals the last Snapper from Chenle's grasp.

To soften the betrayal Jisung throws out a quick _sorry_ before devouring the treat and between the apologetic crease of his brow and his complexion that's been drawn ruddy from the noonday sun; Chenle can't find it in himself to be irritated. 

Chenle thinks, once again, of the buttress that couldn't keep a faithful guard away from the steps of the North Tower. A guard who knew of an incoming battalion yet sacrificed a chance of safety. _For what? What was so important?_

An arm's lengths away is Jisung who's rummaging in Jaemin's satchel for refreshments, yelping victoriously when he's proven successful and giving out the drinks with the airs of someone who thinks they're doing something devious. 

Chenle opens his canned coke as he imagines the tale of bloodshed, just as Donghyuck's drink fizzes over and he spills some on his new shoes, cursing furiously. 

_Not just a tale of bloodshed_. Chenle corrects himself almost mechanically while he laughs along with the others at Jisung's sly antics.

_A love story._

_Suus 'semper amare._

**Night**

Here's a secret. No - secret sounds too much and not enough. It's all squeaky clean and sordid sheets. 

No, not a secret, a truth then. Here's a truth: Chenle thinks about dying. Not in the way that you think, not in the beautiful, romantic way of bullets and bloodshed and falling from extreme heights. 

Chenle thinks about dying, about the absolute dissolution of everything he's ever known, ever felt, tasted, heard-

 _Boom_ , goes his heart, thumping along like a car that will never see it's own exhaust pipe, fumes piling up above. _Boom_ , goes his brain. _Boom_ , goes everything above ground, but below the sky.

 _Boom_ , goes the car. The car that shouldn't exist but does, crashing into a wall where there shouldn't be a wall but there is. It was _only_ meant to be an analogy, the car, one to demonstrate the speed at which Chenle is being ruined. Yet here it is: Chenle in a car that's going nowhere. Chenle in a car with grey fumes filling up every space there is. Chenle in a car that's hitting a wall, hitting a hundred walls that aren't where they should be. Space doesn't matter. Time doesn't matter.

Matter. We are all made of matter but Chenle is made of something less, something less tangible. 

So, the car hits the wall - all the walls - and Chenle flies through a windshield and the sky is so empty and it should hurt but it's too sweet, gums rotting from the saccharine dreams, bliss curving into beads, tumbling down, arms becoming wings, fluttering as feathers moult.

As always, Chenle forgets that he's flightless, so _here_ comes the rush of tarmac quickly drawing closer and _then_ comes the pain of skinned knees and the shock of dry burns. He's brought back to a life where walls don't block roads and cars have functioning break mechanisms.

Why then, is he still in the air?

Let's try another truth.

Chenle thinks about thinking about death. That's a harder truth than the first one, though he can't fathom why.

It comes full circle to mortality salience. Chenle contemplates his own reaction to the inevitable just as much as he contemplates the inevitable itself. It forces him to perceive his life from a perspective which isn't pretty.

It's tiring. 

There's no way around it. No amount of hushed whispers can change this truth, as solid and as indelible as anything. 

The crux of the matter is that Chenle is floating. A vital organ has been stripped from his body and now he's adrift amongst harsher elements than he's ever been privy to.

Yet, Chenle is here, feet on the ground in the botanical garden just outside his house.

He could say something to Jeno, at least. Chenle could let Jeno take a glimpse at what he really is but there's a frightening end to that path and Chenle is reluctant to lay all his cards on the table. What he's found with the others cannot be reduced to a mere vignette, something that will only become a bittersweet memory.

There's a fleeting life that sits in the centre of this chest, alight and burning, treasure that's yet to be buried, a map that's faded, drawn against skin with a switch blade. But he never wanted the treasure because that's where the story ends, ship sailing towards the horizon, chest empty all over again. 

Chenle is suffering from septicaemia of the mind, a bloodborne disease that's taunting him yet no matter how much Chenle tries, he can't find a scratch, not so much as a nick. There must be one because Chenle can't just be like this. There's a cause for this madness, the discontent that's only put to bed when he's joined by the others. Even then, he feels the buzz under his skin of something calling from miles away.

A part of this maligned identity is oddities in thought process and Jisung is a catalyst, one that Chenle can't stomach, so instead he shrinks to make up the difference. 

_Jisung._

Jisung has enacted martial law on his mind and he doesn't even have the decency to realise.

If Chenle's heart is speaking, then it's not in a language that he cares to understand.

We need the sun for warmth and for growth, but Chenle feels the heat coming closer everyday and he's afraid that he'll burn up before any answers can be won and maybe it's not the sun that raises this fear, but an abundance of knowledge and the absence of true understanding.

It's the time of day where you can still see clearly but the streetlights switch on pre-emptively. Across the street are a row of cars and as Chenle watches the lamps begin to shine against the polished hoods of expensive vehicles, great orange sunbursts in the trickling half-light, disorienting to stare upon for too long, phosphenes growing loose in size and erratic strength. Above, the sky is cast over by a dull and indistinct ennui, malaise forming without any fanfare. The watered down pinks of the horizon drip down into a pale blue, cotton-candy colours without any of the trademark sweetness. It is unremarkable, truly. It's an evening like a thousand others but before Chenle, the combination of all these happenings are enlarged. A painting transposed over a painting, becoming something more substantial. 

Along the horizon the dying sunlight bleeds through the sparse clouds, a flesh wound under a stained gauze. 

_The sun rises despite it's pain._

Chenle comforts himself with false consolations and it works. 

_Parlour tricks, my dear._

**Page**

_I think of being born in the 1800s and I think of dying for what you believe in and I think of my weaknesses, piled sky high and I think that maybe this is it and if it is then thinking doesn't matter after all and I hope you can forgive me for what I would have done, what I wanted to do, if I had ever gotten the chance to do so._ _Time didn't wait for me but neither did you._

_-ZC._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I realise that the quality of this update is lacking but I hope it wasn't too bad.
> 
> -There's a substantial reference to one of my other NCT AUs if anyone cares to find it. 
> 
> -Sorry for the shitty note, I'm posting before bed.
> 
> Translations:  
> "Alea jacta est." This is said by Mr Jung towards the end of class. It means "the dice has been cast."
> 
> "Fabula amare." Jaemin and say this in the clearing. It means "a love story."
> 
> "Suus 'sempare amare." Also said/thought by Jaemin and Chenle in the clearing. It means "it's always love."


	4. an odd beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Morality, what a wretched beast you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I won't drone on as I usually do. This chapter was (very slightly) inspired by the following line written by Ocean Vuong.
> 
> _Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you've been ruined._

**Day**

NEW ZONE is a sad place. It's grey and unloved in the way that stray animals seem unloved, wholly knowing of this one truth. Yet, in the early morning light, dust motes hovering, it looks the most beautiful that Chenle has ever seen it to be. NEW ZONE - the foundation that Chenle had often volunteered at - is closing down. It's not a surprise, really. There are only so many sponsorships that any charity can use to sustain itself before the sponsorships eventually dry up.

It's strange, how this place which should have been beautiful for all the good it provided is only now beautiful in the face of it's incoming demise. A human artefact showcasing it's own bitter end. A landmark of what it means to hope when there is no hope. A sentence cut short before the climax.

When Chenle had received the email, he'd sent back an immediate reply asking _how can I help_? He became, for a time, a Hollywood wash-up, running through lines that didn't taste right - churning through his throat and landing on the screen on front of him like a cheap magic trick. Qian Kun, the ever-benevolent director had answered with _there's no helping us._

It didn't stop Chenle from picking up his phone and staring at his father's phone number in the contacts page. He stared and stared, for too long, until his phone went blank from inactivity and even then, he went on staring. There are some paths that can't be repaired, not across a phone line, not when there's a country of division. Not even when you're standing right in front of each other.

Chenle stands in front of NEW ZONE, shrouded in the mist of the half-light streaming through the clouds. He stands the way he wishes he could stand in front of his father - back straight, eyes forward - but all he sees is the beauty of something already on the brink of the end. 

They say that there's a very particular beauty that you can only find in the end because it means that there was a beginning and a middle that's played out. But if you can only find beauty in something by looking at what's come before then is that really beauty? Or is it a consolation?

There's no one here now, shutters down. A vault protecting nothing important, treasures of dust and memory and incompletes. For a brief moment, Chenle had considered visiting the people he had helped. That idea was quickly dashed. A rich boy coming to offer his piles of melancholy? These people have their own sweet sorrows to sift through, they don't need Chenle to add any of his own. So, instead he had told his aunt that he could make his own way to school and came here. To do what? To imprint the image of a castle fallen? 

Qian Kun had said _there's no helping us_ in an email that Chenle has since deleted but the words seem to be floating in front of him, burned into his vision.

_There's no helping us._

No, maybe not.

That doesn't stop the sting that plagues his limbs when he turns to walk away, determined not to look back at what's been made out of hope, of survival. 

_Morality, what a wretched beast you are._

  
*

  
"So, _will_ you come this weekend?"

It's Jisung, looking down at Chenle with a needling gaze, expectant and anxious all at once. Chenle doesn't answer, waiting for Jisung to continue. 

"It's just that my mother wants confirmation and you still haven't said yes?" Jisung's voice tilts upwards, soft and wisp thin before disappearing into nothingness and Chenle hates not knowing where a voice goes when it's over but he hates it even more when it's Jisung's voice.

He hands Jisung his hot chocolate, having seen the younger boy shiver even in the heated dining hall. Then, with the utmost deliberation, he smiles and nods, "Of course, I'm coming. Jaemin threatened to castrate me if I didn't." He takes a sip of his own hot chocolate, pretending not to notice the way that Jisung exhales in relief, a bright beam of happiness taking up the places on his face where uncertainty had been hiding.

A mark of his lack in grace, Jisung handles his drink with too much excitement and manages to get it on the corner of his sleeve, already staining the soft of the wool. Chenle begins to wipe at it with practiced ease, listening with interest as Jisung recounts how the new bowling alley has an American style diner adjoined that he can't wait to try.

"You'll be on my team, right?" He asks, words as fast as gunfire, only slowing to take another sip of his hot chocolate and Chenle is finally satisfied that he's saved the material of his blazer.

"Well I'm not going to be on _Donghyuck's team_ ," Chenle answers, with mocking derision before the back of his head breaks out in blunt pain and he barely avoids spilling his drink on himself, Jisung steadying him with a traitorous laugh. 

On his other side, there's the clang of metal against metal. Chenle swivels and finds himself eye to eye with Donghyuck. "You would be _so_ lucky to play on my team," Donghyuck says, new watch glinting like a beaded signal, weighted silver causing a pain to settle in the calcium of Chenle's teeth.

"Luck? I'm thankful I can avoid _losing_ this way." The pain fades fast but Chenle still massages at his scalp, pinning Donghyuck with a wounded expression which only results in the other raising a sardonic brow.

"We'll see about that."

The others are all sat down, content to watch the verbal sparring over their lunch, until Jeno interjects, "Donghyuck, you're not exactly the best at bowling." His tone is bright, almost jovial, having just found out that he's placed 1st in his sector for athletics. 

The smile on his face is wiped off when Donghyuck's cutlery falls with a clatter. Donghyuck's expression is severe, eyebrows knitted together and head tilting as he seems to reconsider Jeno. There's a bubble in time that's closed on both sides, trapping them in this moment.

"Et tu, Jeno?" Donghyuck whispers, voice cracking, like it's traveled many miles to reach them over radio waves. 

The bubbles bursts. Chenle breathes, elbowing Donghyuck in ~~relief~~ irritation.

"You're such a bastard," Jeno says, even as he reaches across and organises Donghyuck's cutlery back into place, gentle hands belying his true sentiment. 

Chewing at half a fry, Donghyuck shakes his head furiously, like a dog caught in the rain, dark hair coming out of it's neat style. "I'm being _serious_ ," he whines, lifting one hand to shove his bangs out of the way, "how can we succeed if my own teammate doesn't respect the captain?" He asks, the hand with the half-fry pointing at Jeno in poorly-formed accusation. 

For his part, Jeno only scoffs and Jaemin jumps in. "I can answer that. You're _not_ the captain." Jaemin seems bewildered at the assertion and looks to Jeno for support.

"Yeah, you're really not."

Donghyuck grins, wild and kerosene bright. "I was voted in as captain of Team Lee." The fry has finally been eaten, and Donghyuck looks at the rest of his food with disinterest so Jisung hands him half his burger, which he accepts gratefully. 

There's a multitude of voices overlapping each other.

"When did we vote-"

"Team _Lee_?! I'm not a-"

This happens to the accompaniment of raucous laughter, Renjun convulsing in amusement, glad that Jisung had asked him to be on his team.

"I conducted the vote yesterday night, as you were both absent I won by default. As for you, Jaemin. You're lucky I let you in the team. Na just _isn't in vogue_ anymore." 

The voices start back up again, Jeno claiming that such practices are _plainly undemocratic_ and Jaemin floundering with indignation while yelling _say something about my name again and I'll-_

There's a tug on Chenle's sleeve and he's forced away from the spectacle in front of him to look at Jisung who's gaining Renjun's attention in a similar fashion. 

"Can I be the captain?" He asks, voice quiet in the cocoon of sound he's created. 

Truthfully, Chenle has no qualms about being led, especially when Jisung seems to care this much. So, he looks at Renjun for a sign.

Renjun groans, always full of dramatics before relenting. "I wouldn't be able to lead, anyways. I would just murder one of you," he says it without humour, straight-laced expression as deadpan as ever. "Right, Chenle?"

"Right. Go for it."

Jisung breaks out into a smile that looks like a drop of sunlight, a taste of youth that's hard to find. 

The pain in Chenle's chest strengthens, a rope weaving itself around his organs. Around them, the bustle of the dining hall has narrowed to just them and Chenle finds himself wondering what youth tastes like. 

_It must be sweet._

Youth is an ambrosia of it's own, shielding Chenle from worldly sensibilities even as it guides him over the inexplicable threshold that crosses between childhood and into adulthood.

With elation, Jisung gloats about his democratic captaincy to the _Lees_ , filled with pride at his election and Chenle frowns when he notices Renjun watching him.

"What?"

"Nothing. You just looked...odd for a moment." Renjun shrugs, a full-body thing that resembles an exorcism more than it does an act of nonchalance. 

Renjun seems as if he's about to say something more but his attention shifts to Jaemin who's flailing about at something Donghyuck has said.

" _Don't_. You know that was my favourite shirt." Jaemin avoids Renjun's eyes when he whispers, "it's still on the _roof_." 

Renjun, of course, revels in Jaemin's misery. "What can I say? I'm a good shot, Jaemin. Maybe I should try for the baseball team," he says, faux-innocence coating his words like a balm that only agitates Jaemin further.

He whispers something again.

"What? I can't hear you?"

"I said, that _didn't_ help you get Rabbit, Run down. Now, _did_ it?" It's easy to see that the words take a lot of effort for Jaemin to say, but when they're out he only scowls in defiance.

"Wrong move, Nana," Donghyuck lets out under his breath, only enough for Chenle to hear and he has to agree that it was the _wrong_ move.

Across from Chenle, Renjun has turned a tinge of red that _really_ shouldn't be possible with his skin tone but when he speak, it's with the utmost degree of measure. "Nana, didn't you just buy the Animal Instinct sneakers?" He asks, turning to look at Jaemin, hands flat out on the table, almost ready to push off.

 _Almost ready to run_ , Chenle realises.

Jaemin, for someone who entered Brightmark with record-worthy scores, is alarmingly slow. "Yeah. On Mond-" He answers, or tries to answer, but then he's just speaking to an empty seat. 

On the far side of the hall, Renjun is already speeding out the door, enough to give the road-runner anxiety.

"What's just happened?" 

"Oh my god. Your EQ is absolute garbage, Nana." Donghyuck only adds insult to injury and that's when it dawns on Jaemin, the misery returning to his features like a winter storm, darkening his eyes.

At his side, Jeno looks at him with pity. "You should probably run."

" _Again_?" Jaemin utters with an overwhelming amount of pain. It would almost be upsetting if not for the fact that it's over a pair of _shoes_. Jeno nods and then Jaemin is off as well, long legs aiding him as he tries to catch up with Renjun and stop him from doing the unspeakable.

"Well now we're missing the show. Are you guys coming?" Donghyuck is standing up, empty tray in hand as he inquires. 

Chenle casts his vision about and notices that he's the only one who's not yet finished. He's torn between being hungry and being left alone when there's an answer from his right. "I'm staying. I need to let my stomach digest before I attempt any cross-country marathons," Jisung answers, the picture of appeasement. 

"I'll make sure to take a video for you," Donghyuck calls over his shoulder as Jeno drags him away with understandable urgency.

"Do you think Jeno will have to restrain Renjun?" Jisung poses the question, once they're gone, with genuine curiosity before being overcome by a bout of chuckles at the image. 

"You should go if you're so curious." Chenle feels a bubble of guilt rise, knowing that the dorm is probably a mess right now. Jisung loves messes.

"I'd much rather sit with you," Jisung counters, and Chenle is taken aback to hear him say it with feeling, like he truly means it. "Can I have some of your pasta?" He changes the subject. Not because he's uncomfortable with what he's said but because what he's said didn't mean anything spectacular to him. Jisung said it with feeling, as he says _everything_ with feeling. He's a boy made of colour, painting the world with whatever he deems suitable. 

Chenle finds himself deflated from daring to think otherwise.

There's beauty in oddities. In the same way that there's beauty in the end.

**Night**

Chenle's interests border on the esoteric, he knows, too slight and too far away for others to broach, an autumnal breeze that chills them as he steps backwards, pen in hand, dangling dangerously, the threat of a weapon which he knows nought to do with.

He wouldn't call himself particular, content to label his graces as being good and easy, though Renjun - ever the contrarian - often asserts his opinion that Chenle is _an overzealous and easily riled creature, peculiar in mannerisms and in speech_ , though he always ends with a cheeky grin, voice lilting high and full, somewhere in the air. Renjun is an ass but Chenle could never do without him.

Except for _now_. He could really do without him right now. 

"Did you think you could _hide_ from me?" Renjun is rightfully incredulous. Chenle was an idiot to think he could hide, even in this dark nook of the library. Renjun is a blood-hound with vaguely human qualities, there's no escaping him.

"No?" 

_Wow. I'm sure that was very convincing._

"I was wondering when we'd get started on our project?" Renjun slams an armful of books onto the table, before slinking into a seat and opening one to a bookmarked page. 

See, this is exactly why Chenle had been poorly hiding. It's after hours and he figured that he could try and write to ~~procrastinate~~ pass the time. 

Jisung has already gone home, tired from the day. Jaemin, has detention because in his haste, he left school early in the most conspicuous manner. Renjun, on the other hand, had snuck out while Donghyuck and Jeno simply _asked_ for permission to leave for lunch. Despite that, they're both also still at school, feeling bad for Jaemin out of some sort of moral obligation. 

That means Renjun is free to pester Chenle into doing actual work.

" _Our_ project? Sounds a bit too much like communism to me." The attempt at humour only provokes the barest hint of a smile from Renjun who then schools his expression into disapproval.

"Very funny. Now what do you think we should do our project on?" Renjun waits before grimacing and adding, "mortality salience isn't an option." It's said with such finality that Chenle doesn't bother saying that he doesn't want it to be an option.

"I was thinking that we could discuss the philosophy of history?" Chenle proposes, pulling out his own textbook, and shoving it at Renjun who looks mildly alarmed that Chenle had the initiative to start by himself. He doesn't move to start though. Just watches in silence with the grain in his eyes glinting yellow-brown, no longer a bloodhound, now something more feline.

Sighing, Chenle juts his chin out, combative amongst all the paper. "Should we not get started?"

The sentence breaks a dam and Renjun lets the disappointment shine through. "I thought we could do something we actually believe in. Maybe theo-"

"I do believe in it," Chenle says, confused. "I believe in it," he repeats, feeling the words carve a hole at his joints, as if that might make them more true. His chin is back in place, the plains of his jaw softening as he faces his friend.

Renjun glances back down at the textbook before looking back. "Hegel? All of humanity on a linear string racing towards realisation? I'm not sure I'm a fan, certainly not enough to write about him."

The clock is absurdly loud, Chenle notes distantly. It seems to be getting louder with every breath. 

"Plato had thoughts on history too," he interjects, words spilling as he tries to defend his position but Renjun's frown only deepens.

"And Aristotle thought it held no merit. I hardly think that history is something that can be portioned out into easily digestible morsels. Don't you think it's dangerous, these labels and justifications? What about war?"

They seemed to have been sucked into a vacuum of opposing ideas, something that grabs ahold of them and shakes the friendly sensibilities out of them. Chenle chuckles dryly, scanning Renjun with a barely there sort of disdain. "You want to talk Aristotle? Need I remind you that he viewed war as a welcome necessity for the state to quell barbarism?"

Predictably, Renjun glosses over that without even a stutter, merely narrowing his eyes and saying, "The Vietnam War."

"The Vietnam War?" Chenle feels like an echo, like he's lagging on a beat that's skipped forward while he's still trying to get through the refrain.

"The Vietnam War was lost by the US but in essence neither side won. People died, people kept dying. It was an example of human greed, of our ability to cling onto what's already turned to dust. Le, it _sucked_. How could that possibly be a stepping stone to self-realisation?" It's with an unusual tenderness that Renjun looks at him, like this is important for him to know, spanning beyond just this school project.

"We all know what happened." He twists the spirals in his binder, thinking back on what he knows, coming up short, only able to recall how his youngest maternal uncle was born with a heart defect due to Agent Orange. The intricacies of war are an unknown, knowledge available to those who have fought and lived.

"Do we?" Renjun presses, always able to find the chink in Chenle's armour.

A shadow darkens the crevices of Chenle, eyebags sinking and pulling when he speaks, a torrent of grievances taunting his thoughts. "Okay, maybe we don't. Maybe, we'll never know what hand prints history has left behind. The mark of what's been done will never be erased and the world has been moulded around what we don't know. _So, what_?"

"So _what_?" Renjun is incredulous. 

"Well what do you want me to do about it? History has made it's way and I'll take what I can get. This isn't my battle to win, Renjun. I'm _not_ the body in the lake and I'm _not_ the guard at the foot of the tower. I'm a boy who wants to believe that the books we read are telling the truth, that were all heading somewhere, that the pages in this library aren't full of lies." He's folding in on himself, seeking warmth where he can find it; not finding it but trying all the same. Chenle looks at the ceiling of the library, all glass and wooden beams teetering far above, and he listens to the storm that's starting up, raindrops sounding like gunpowder set alight. Wars are never won, this is no exception.

Chenle feels inertia take over and breathes out something that pours smoke into the air between them. "Because if they are-"

"Then we'll be rendered inconsequential," Renjun finishes, grimacing from across the table. "I _know_ the story Chenle, don't speak to me like I don't." He softens at the hurt that Chenle can't hide on his face, wires of pain that reach out like fingers. "Acknowledging the truth is not what makes us inconsequential. Chenle, we're inconsequential regardless of whether or not we choose to believe it."

He shuts the textbook that Chenle had given him, casting it aside without a second glance, and inhales, seemingly unaware of the smoke that's now lining his lungs. "The choice that we need to make, then, is to live like history will regret making fools of us. We are not martyrs nor are we spun of gold but soon history will be begging for our names." Renjun says it like it's the only thing that makes sense. It all comes so _easy_ for him. If Jisung is made of colour then Renjun is spun from neon twine and liquid gold lace, fire burning up his skin and giving blaze where he holds Chenle, branding him with something close to optimism.

Chenle remembers nights where the horizon seemed like a fairy tale. Nights that are so frequent lately, when the dark is only the second darkest thing that he has seen and he thinks of Renjun sat before him, who can't possibly know what's happening, what's going to happen, and yet he speaks like he's glimpsed their futures, entwined and entangled in a way that can't ever be ripped apart.

The six of them aren't great believers of fate but it has to be said that they're six parts of a whole, destined for a future that will only ever implode.

_We should never have met._

The thought blooms and Chenle knows it to be true, the only true thing to exist right now.

_I should never have entered the woods that day._

It's too late for that now. The pieces have slotted into place, six parts of a whole on a wheel that's been turning for years now, one that's charging forth to what Chenle can only describe as a collision. 

_There's no helping us._

"History wasn't made for us," Chenle finally whispers, locking eyes with Renjun who seems to be frozen, on the verge of replying before the chairs on either side of him are being pulled out courtesy of Donghyuck and Jaemin. 

Chenle expects it to end there, amongst the laughter from Donghyuck who's recounting the way Jeno had been dragged into helping out with the upcoming stage production of _hamlet_. 

It doesn't end there, though. In fact, this might be where it truly begins, Renjun cutting through the chatter, eyes like poisoned daggers, sharp and dangerous but sad all the same. "You're wrong," he says, words as heavy as stones dropping into a bottomless lake. The lake is them and the depths of the water can only hide so much before you have to seek land.

Immediately, Donghyuck falls silent and Chenle doesn't miss the surprise that Jaemin displays, looking at Renjun like he's a stranger inhabiting his friends body.

"Renjun? Wrong about what?" He asks, one hand on top of Renjun's and for a beat it stays there, until it's shaken off.

Almost like the flow of a play that Chenle has watched too many times, the scene plays out in front of him. Renjun continues, ignoring the question and leaning forwards to create a circle between only him and Chenle, blocking out everything else. "It was made for us. Chenle, history _was_ made for us." Renjun scoffs, spearmint breath carrying across and ruffling the dark of Chenle's bangs. "If you think that this is a show of my optimism, though, then you forget who I am. Life is about nuance. So, yes. History was made for us but that doesn't mean it _wants_ us." 

Renjun has leaned so far that he's standing up, close enough to see the golden specks in his brown eyes and he's smiling, with renewed exuberance, pressing his forehead to Chenle's and now speaking quietly enough for the others to not hear. "The world wants us. Is that not enough?" 

It's hard to move, but Chenle nods once, movement shaky and then smiles back, all shark-teeth and full cheeks before Renjun squeezes at his shoulder and sits back. He then promptly smacks at Donghyuck and Jaemin in turn.

"Why are you distracting us? You know we're working on our project."

Jaemin only stares, mouth agape at the sudden change and Donghyuck is the one who answers. "It looks like you were pretty distracted without our help," he shakes his head, skepticism marring his features as he surveys the mess of books shrewn around the tabletop.

Renjun, employing his useful skill of selective hearing, shoves him aside with a thud and turns to Jaemin. "Why did neither of you help Jeno?" 

Snorting in a baffled manner, Jaemin really does seem convinced that Renjun has been replaced by a stranger. He tosses his head back and shoots a finger gun at Renjun. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to? Us? Wait for Jeno?" He asks, matter-of-factly and Renjun's nostrils flare slightly, though it's really his own mistake to have expected anything else from Jaemin. 

The lights dim slightly, and Chenle spots motion in the distance, a cloaked-figure with his hands in his pockets, walking with a touch of confidence that's drawing the eyes of some of the others in the library. Jeno is effortless at seeming effortless, a true textbook society-boy brought to life with his roman nose and careful mannerisms. He maneuvers into the seat next to Chenle, shivering under the heavy pull of his coat.

"Why are you wet?" Donghyuck asks, features twisting as he traces the drop of water clinging to Jeno's hair. 

"I got caught in the storm." Jeno looks at Chenle and holds out both his arms. It takes a moment but Chenle slots into the space between and is enveloped in Jeno's embrace, warmth filling him up even against clammy skin. It's Jeno who pulls away first asking, "what were you talking about?" 

"War." Chenle tosses a knowing look at Renjun. "We were talking about war."

Jeno pauses, shrugging off his jacket. "War?" He stops to consider the idea before smiling and handing out a bundle of lollipops from his pocket, which Donghyuck struggles to open. "War. That sounds about right."

Helping Donghyuck out with the task, Renjun does a double-take and lights up in hope. "Isn't your brother a philosophy major?"

"Taeyong? Yeah, he's a second year. Why?" 

"Is there anything interesting that he's taught you? We've been struggling to decide on a topic for our assignment."

Jeno, without even an ounce of humour recites, "The concept of mankind is delightful but ideas rarely ever go well in practice." He then proceeds to devour his lollipop and Chenle begins to regret his earlier description of _perfect society-boy._

Renjun, stricken and bug-eyed looks to Chenle in realisation. "We're going to fail, aren't we?" His lollipop has been discarded, falling onto Chenle's textbook and staining it with the stickiness of liquid sugar.

"Yes." He nods sagely in answer. "We are."

**Pages**

  
_The truth is only the truth when you don't expect it to be - when it comes from a place that you didn't know existed. To know this is to know pain._

_There's a swelling inside of me, ringing out from my epicenter, red-hot with the fumes of uncertainty, of doubt. The tides come in but I'm not there. You can't sweep out what you can't see. The sand on the beach is made up of millions of grains but if there's no one to witness the battering of the waves, then does the coast really exist? What is a border if not a line in the sand, something inconsequential, transient?_

_Am I not the very thing I condemn?_

_-ZC._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very dialogue-heavy chapter and hopefully it flowed naturally. So, Kun made a surprise appearance!! I think he suits the role of charity foundation director very well. NEW ZONE is going to shut down which is unfortunate? 
> 
> There's also rivalry between the bowling teams! And poor Jaemin had to run back to the dorms. I can't say I feel sorry for him tbh. I think Jisung will make a great captain. Donghyuck? Not so much. 
> 
> The latter half of the chapter was a lot to think about. Renjun is strong in his beliefs, especially when it comes to Chenle. Is this an asset or a hindrance? We'll have to see. 
> 
> And Jeno is being irrevocably himself but I wonder if he managed to get out of the Hamlet production. 
> 
> Those are all the questions I can think of posing lol they may or may not be relevant for the plot. I'll let you figure it out.
> 
> I changed the fic summary _again_ because I'm indecisive as all hell. Is it any good? Or shall I change it back?
> 
> Also, I accidentally deleted this chapter twice before managing to post. I am internally screaming from the pain AHHHHHHHH-


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